Fault
by jennamajig
Summary: And even though Colonel Sheppard had made the call, he knew it was still all his fault. Tag for Misbegotten.  Chapter 9 of 9  up.  Story is now COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

SUMMARY: And even though Colonel Sheppard had made the call, he knew it was still all his fault. Tag for Misbegotten.

SEASON/SPOILERS: Season 3. Tag for Misbegotten.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: And snippet #2 of my unfinished Carson plot bunnies is up and running! I'm posting Chapter 1 so that folks can kick my behind to finish it up. Probably 3-4 chapters of this total. Not beta-ed, so may be edited later as I finish it.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Stargate: Atlantis or anything associated with it. I'm simply borrowing, but I promise to return all in one piece. Eventually.

* * *

John Sheppard shouldn't have been surprised when Carson passed out, but the timing threw him off.

While they were contemplating how long it would take the jumper to get back to Atlantis, the doc had been pacing. He had been pale yes, and unconsciously fingering the bruises around his wrists, but he had still been up on two feet.

John figured it was because of what had just happened. Beckett wasn't happy, and John was positive the guilt was eating the man alive. He'd briefly wondered if he should be worried that it wasn't bothering him more.

Causalities of war. No, not even John was sure he could believe that. They'd been Wraith and regardless of their new human exterior, it was hard to completely forget they'd been Wraith. Oh, he could try and even succeed – at least far more than Ronan could – but it didn't erase any of the unease he felt around them.

It was hard to get the image of a life-sucking monster out of his head.

McKay had been talking and right behind the doc, so when Beckett suddenly stopped started to fall forwards, McKay had managed to stop him from hitting his head on the floor. A medical team must have been on standby on the Daedalus, because only a few seconds after they got the jumper aboard seemed to pass before a gurney came into view.

Beckett didn't stir the entire time. Sheppard might not know much about medicine, but he knew that couldn't be a good thing. He was tempted to follow as the gurney was pushed away, but knew he was the last person Carson needed to wake up to.

So instead his eyes met Teyla's. She gave a slight nod and grabbed the Scot's lax hand as he was pushed away.

* * *

Carson Beckett woke up with a headache. A severe headache that had him disoriented and so horribly nauseous that he didn't even get a chance to bring anything in his sightline into focus before he was trying to turn himself and started retching. He felt something sharp pull on his left arm and suddenly there was hands on him, helping him turn.

He was panting when it was over.

"Dr. Beckett?"

A voice he didn't recognize was calling his name. He blinked, trying desperately to both ignore the pounding in his head and to bring the room into focus.

"Carson." Someone's hand softly gripped his own hand. That voice he did recognize.

"T'yla?" he muttered, his voice sounding rusty. He blinked a couple of more times and the Athosian finally came into focus. Behind her was a man in a lab coat, stethoscope in hand. Carson had no idea who he was. Another blink and he realized there was medical equipment surrounding the three of them and that he was lying flat. A glance to his arm revealed an IV line, which explained the sharp pull just moments before.

The infirmary? Was he in the infirmary? He couldn't be, as he knew all of his staff and the doctor behind Teyla certainly wasn't one of them.

"We are in the Daedalus infirmary," Teyla told him. "You collapsed in the jumper less than fifteen minutes ago. Do you remember?"

The Daedulus? Collapsed in the jumper? He frowned, trying to think past the pounding. The jumper…a planet with no Stargate, Michael….Michael.

The nausea reappeared with a vengeance and he tried his best to sit up. Teyla, bless her heart, must have realized what he was trying to do and she helped him up just in time for the still unnamed doctor to thrust an emesis basin in front of him.

He brought up only bile as he hadn't eaten in…well, he had no clue. He had no idea what time it was or even what day it was, or how much time Michael had held him captive for, or exactly what Michael took from him.

_/Let's begin…/_

He shut his eyes at the memory, wincing at the influx of pain it caused.

"Dr. Beckett." The voice he didn't know again. "I need you open your eyes so that I can finish examining you." The voice was insistent. He let out a breath he didn't even realize he'd been holding and opened his eyes.

"I need to know what happened," the doctor stated.

"You need to know what happened," he repeated.

"Yes," the doctor said.

"I'm not even sure what bloody happened," he muttered, reaching his IVed hand to his head. He stared at the line a moment. "What are you giving me?" he asked.

"Just saline for the moment," the doctor told him. "You're fairly dehydrated, which is probably greatly contributing to the headache you have. But I can't draw any other conclusions without more information, Dr. Beckett."

More information he didn't have, he knew. "I told you, I don't know." He lowered his hand and looked at Teyla. "My head hurts."

He saw Teyla's eyebrows furrow. The Daedalus doctor sighed, turning to Teyla. "Was he this confused in the jumper or on the planet?"

"On the planet he was nearly unconscious. It took three of us to help back to the jumper. I gave him some oxygen there and he become lucid again until he collapsed."

Oxygen? He didn't remember that…or did he? He remembered being on the planet, then the Hive ship…

_/"Target the camp."_

_"We have no time. The other hive ship's gonna be here any minute and we won't survive a battle. It's my call."/_

It was suddenly much harder to breath and he felt his heart rate greatly increase as he shut his eyes again, his headache increasing in intensity. He felt himself being guided back down flat on the gurney and heard the scurry of additional feet. He supposed he'd drawn at least the attention of a couple of additional medical personal.

"That's it. Let's finish getting him on a monitor and run some O2, two liters by cannula. I want a CT before I radio the infirmary in Atlantis. Dr. Beckett, can you at least give me a pain rating on the 1-10 scale?"

Pain scale? He felt someone slide the prongs of the ordered oxygen cannula into his nostrils. He reached up to stop them, but the hands easily guided his away and secured the tubing behind his ears and under his chin. The slightly metallic smell of pure oxygen followed and he took a deep breath in.

"Dr. Beckett?"

He cracked his eyes open, the doctor and Teyla still at his side. Behind his head, he felt movement as someone else was sneaking monitoring pads to his chest. He heard the soft beep of his heart rate, and the doctor part of him knew it was too fast. He took another couple of deep breaths of the oxygen and it slowed slightly. The oxygen, much as he hated it, was actually helping clear some of the cobwebs.

"Carson?" Teyla this time, her voice filled with worry. He hated worrying her. He needed to respond.

"Nine," he finally answered. "My wrists hurt." For first time he noticed them and he shifted his hand a moment to study the raw skin. Michael had tied him down and… "And I'm…" Michael had tied him down and...

_/You underestimate your own value, Doctor./_

He swallowed, shaking his head slightly to clear the memory and pain and nausea that came along with it.

"Still experiencing nausea?" the doctor finished for him and Carson, nodded, thankful. "I'll give you some Compazine in a moment for it, we'll take care of those wrists, and get a scan done." The doctor patted his leg and scurried off, giving orders as he did, but Carson's head hurt too much to pay attention to any of them.

Teyla took his hand again and gently squeezed it. "I am told we will be back in Atlantis in less than twelve hours. You will probably feel more comfortable with your staff, I would imagine?"

He wouldn't feel comfortable with anyone examining him, he knew, but familiar faces were decidedly better. His breathing had settled with the oxygen, but his head still pounded in time to his still excelerated heartbeat and while he could finally recognize his surroundings, he knew he'd earned a ticket straight to a bed in his own infirmary, even if his CT scan came back clean. He tried to give Teyla a smile to let her know he was okay, but realized from the forced reassuring smile she flashed back at him that he'd failed miserably.

He hadn't a clue exactly what Michael had gained from him, just that he'd most likely revealed too much, his head hurt, and there were many humanized Wraith that were left to their deaths.

_/"They are about to become casualties of war./_

And even though Colonel Sheppard had made the call, he knew it was still all his fault.


	2. Chapter 2

All his fault.

Carson wearily replayed that sentiment in his aching head two hours later as he watched the Daedalus physician from earlier – Dr. Jenkins, he'd finally been informed – point to the results from his CT scan. Or at least tried to watch. Despite the fact he'd finally cleared enough of the disorientation from earlier to provide a skeletal detail of what *might* have happened to him, he found himself painfully squinting at the bright computer images of his brain.

"Based on the limited information you have finally provided, Dr. Beckett, it would appear you have a grade three concussion with a point of impact here." Jenkins pointed to his frontal lobe, and Carson was pleased he could easily identify it. He wasn't too sure he could have a half-hour previous.

"Point of impact? But he said he didn't hit his head. Or did you just not pay attention to that important piece of information?" Carson blinked at the new familiar voice, turning his head slightly to find not only Teyla still at his side, but that Rodney had apparently joined her. He frowned.

"Rodney?" How had he missed his entrance? He wasn't paying enough attention.

"Carson." Rodney gave a curt nod his way. "Like I was saying, he didn't hit his head, so how can your voodoo possibly say that-"

"What Dr. McKay is trying to ask," Teyla interrupted, and Carson was immediately grateful, as he wasn't sure his head could handle the pitch of Rodney's berating tone. "Is how can Dr. Beckett have a concussion when he did not suffer a blow to the head?"

"Yes, well," Jenkins lowered the datapad that displayed the scan. "Concussion is a term that can apply to a general head injury. In this cause it didn't involve a direct physical impact to the head, but Dr. Beckett had indicated that Michael entered his mind and…"

_/You're exactly what I need…/_

"…we are unsure exactly how Wraith mind-probing effects…"

_/Now…let's begin…/_

"…there is still evidence of a moderate brain injury. The disorientation, slightly depressed respiration, and elevated heart rate and BP are enough to warrant continued monitoring for a while."

Continued monitoring? Carson blinked at those words, feeling a sudden urge to get up and away. He pulled off the O2 cannula, reached for the blanket across his lap, flung it aside, and pushed himself up with all the energy he could find.

Which only got him as far as tangling his IV line before he found his head back on the pillow and peering up at the concerned faces of Teyla, Rodney, and Jenkins. He sighed in frustration as the room swam slightly around him.

"You need to stay here, Carson," Teyla took him, her hand on his arm. Jenkins reached around her to untangle the IV tubing. Rodney stayed rooted to his spot, looking like he didn't have a clue what to do.

"Um, what she said," Rodney finally ventured before looking back at Jenkins. "Just a concussion?"

Carson heard Jenkins sigh. "As far as our diagnostic tools can tell. I've spoken with the Atlantis infirmary and Dr. Biro wants to get him under the Ancient scanner. It could reveal more. For now, we'll treat the symptoms." He picked up the discarded oxygen line. Carson groaned.

"Don't need that," he managed to mutter. If he was going to stay put, he wanted it gone. Jenkins ignored him.

"We'll treat the symptoms," he repeated. "Which includes the oxygen, Dr. Beckett. You know as well as I do, you're on it for a reason."

"Aye, to annoy me." He tried his very best to peer at the vitals monitor he knew was directly behind him. "Sats are—"

"90," Jenkins interrupted as he finished securing the oxygen and reached for the datapad he'd placed on the edge of the bed. "And that is with the O2." Jenkins punched a few buttons on the datapad. "I don't want to mask any further symptoms but I can give you some acetaminophen for the headache."

"You mean paracetamol," he countered.

Jenkins just shook his head. "Fine, paracetamol, as non-Americans like to call it," he repeated with a sigh. "I can't say I envy your staff when we get into beaming range in about," he glanced at his watch, "ten hours. We'll be doing hourly neuro checks until then. I'll be back in a bit."

The doctor hurried off, leaving only Teyla and Rodney behind. He wondered where Ronon and Colonel Sheppard were, though he supposed the latter was no doubt angry with him. Despite the guilt, Carson was still upset at the fact that John could make a call to kill over one hundred human lives with so little hesitation. And Ronan had agreed.

_/It has to be done./_

But no such call should have ever had to be made. Carson had hated the idea of using the gas on a hive ship to begin with, despite the good results tests had yielded, but they'd had little option when Michael had reappeared with a hive behind him. The only reason they had a couple hundred Wraiths-turned-humans was because of his experimentation on Michael originally. And Carson hadn't even begun to contemplate Morrison's death, again ultimately a product of his drugging and essentially creating the hybrid Michael was.

Perhaps it was no wonder Colonel Sheppard hadn't stopped by. He sighed softly.

"Where's Colonel Sheppard?" He watched Rodney and Teyla exchange a look.

Teyla gave him a small smile. "He is speaking with Colonel Caldwell and briefing Dr. Weir via radio, I believe. It has not been that long since we arrived on the Daedalus. Ronon was here when you were in the scanner. Do you remember?"

He started to shake his head, and immediately regretted the decision. "No."

"You need rest."

_/"A giant, flying barn! We couldn't hit that."/_

He ignored her and frowned. "Did we hit the planet?"

"Hit the planet?" Teyla repeated, and she turned to Rodney.

"You fired at it, I thought," Carson expanded, wondering if his mind was still playing tricks on him.

"Oh, that. We did but there is no telling how accurate our fire was," Rodney admitted. "But you were there and conscious at that point. You don't remember that?"

_/"__There's still over a hundred men down there that believe that we are their saviors."/_

"Not really," he lied. "But I remember that there were one hundred people on that planet, Rodney." He needed the facts; tried to convince himself that they would help ease the guilt.

"Were, Carson," Rodney confirmed. "The only life signs the Daedalus could detect were ours in the jumper. So I was either a very good shot or—"

"Michael escaped, taking one hundred innocent people with him as a sacrifice for the other hive," Carson finished. The pain in his head increased greatly at the thought and he reached a hand up to the bridge of his nose, pinching it. Teyla gave him a look of concern, but again he ignored it.

"Well, yes, there is that possibility."

"So either way, all those people are dead." From either an explosion or a Wraith culling, he thought, leaving those words unsaid. His head continued to throb and a nurse suddenly appeared, bearing water and a paper cup with the promised paracetamol in it. Behind her was Ronon, holding a tray.

"They were Wraith, doc. No matter what you turn them into, they are still Wraith." He pushed the tray towards Carson. "I brought you jello. It's green."

Carson wanted to smile at the sentiment, but the sight of the wiggling green substance only made his stomach churn. He tried to push himself up, but the nurse shook her head, put the cups with the pills on in his right hand and the bed control in his left. He gave her a smile of thanks.

"I'll get you some water," she promised, heading a few feet away from his bed.

"Did you notice if they had blue jello?" Rodney asked Ronon as he studied the tray in Ronon's hands hopefully. Ronon just shrugged and pushed the tray back in Carson's direction. He gave Ronon a pained smile and shook his head.

Ronon shrugged again, reached for the fork on the tray, and began eating the jello himself. Carson steered his eyes away from the green blob as the nurse returned with a glass of water. He took the pills, grimacing at the unpleasant way they seemed to sit his stomach. He closed his eyes.

"We should go and let you rest," he heard Teyla say. Part of him wanted to open his eyes and tell her no, but a greater part of him wanted to be left alone. He kept his eyes closed, trying to unsuccessfully let his pounding headache drown out the rest of the thoughts in his head.

_/"__But you, on the other hand, are trained to have an open mind, and you have a strong sense of empathy toward others."/_

He felt a soft hand brush his forehead a moment and the sound of footsteps.

_/"It's not as strong as it used to be, believe me."/_

He let that thought echo in his mind as he gave into his weariness. When he next blinked his eyes open again, his head was still pounding in time to his heartbeat, Teyla, Rodney, and Ronon were gone, and Jenkins was back, ready to conduct a neurological exam.

As he tried to best to follow Jenkins' finger with his eyes, he briefly wondered if this was the experience that would finally break him.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Okay, a 2-4 chapter story, may end up 5-6 chapters instead. Some Sheppard this chapter, followed by more Carson whumping. More team interactions to come, I promise! Disclaimer for medical stuff: I research to high hell with it and am taking pre-nursing coursework on a path to change careers, but I am no doctor and some slight dramatic license may be taken, but it is nothing worse than what we've seen on the show ;).

Part Three

* * *

John Sheppard met Elizabeth Weir in her office the moment the Daedalus touched down and unloaded.

He knew Beckett had been beamed down to his infirmary once they'd been in range. Rodney, Teyla, and Ronan had given Elizabeth a brief greeting in the control room before heading towards the infirmary and John should have done the same, but instead he'd hung back and followed Elizabeth to her office. He was avoiding Beckett, no doubt. During the twelve-hour trip home, he'd entered the Daedalus infirmary once, to find Carson asleep. But even then, Beckett's harbored guilt was written all over his face. He had quickly left. John hid his guilt better; in fact, if he were honest with himself, he was quite the master at it. Therefore he knew he wasn't quite ready to face it this time around and he certainly would have to during a visit with a conscious Carson.

Elizabeth stood behind her desk, her fingertips resting on a large stack of paperwork. "We have no idea if any of them survived, do we?"

"No," he confirmed. "McKay did manage to fire a hell of a lot of ammo down on the planet before we abandoned the hive ship, but to be honest, we were a little focused on saving our own asses to pay attention to what happened to anyone else. And then after that, Beckett passed out, so…"

"So you took care of Carson, of course. I'm on my way to the infirmary to see him." She sighed. "The IOA might regret keeping me in command here once they read this report."

John shook his head. "I supported your decision, Elizabeth, and I still support it, despite what happened with Carson. And I'll put something in my report that will convince that Woolsey guy to back off."

Elizabeth smiled. "Defending my honor again, John Sheppard?"

"Not really," he responded, "since I promised they'd be no head knocking, after all."

"Right," she agreed, nodding. "I expect your full report on my desk tomorrow. But for now, I assume you might want to accompany me to the infirmary?"

"Actually," he countered. "I have something else I have to do first." She gave him a raised eyebrow and he knew she could see his reluctance. Elizabeth was not an easy woman to lie to, that was for sure. He gave her a forced smile. "I don't think I'm the person Carson really wants to see right now."

"I'm sure you're wrong about that, John. We certainly didn't want it to end the way it did."

Her "we" clearly included him, he knew, but he wasn't too sure it should. He'd wanted to get his people off that planet as quickly as possible, even if that meant that some humanized Wraiths might revert once they ran out of Beckett's drug and feed on those that didn't revert fast enough.

He had hated leaving Carson behind, especially after finding Lanthan dead. And that was the real reason he felt guilty. If he'd convinced Carson to leave, Michael won't have had an opportunity to probe his mind and the failsafe device would have worked as planned, if it had even been needed.

Which he had thought all along it would be. It was why he'd insisted on it. Perhaps the fact that that piece of information didn't bother him more should be more disturbing, but it wasn't. Not to him.

They were at war and the Wraith was the enemy. Erasing memories and transforming them into human flesh didn't erase any of the horrible things they'd done. Sure they seemed like less of a threat that way, but even that wasn't really true, as Michael had proven. No, more and more he was with Ronon on this one.

For a moment, he wondered what would have happened if Ronon had killed Michael the first time he'd had the chance.

"No we didn't," he finally said to Elizabeth. "Just another busy day in the Pegasus galaxy." He paused. "Look, head to the infirmary to check on Carson. I'm going to stop by my quarters and I'll be there in a bit."

Elizabeth looked like she didn't believe a word he said, but she nodded and let him leave. He headed in the direction of the residential part of Atlantis, but found himself making a slight detour past the mess hall and out to its closest balcony. It was nighttime on Atlantis, and dozens of stars dotted the sky. He looked up at them, knowing that one of them might be the planet they'd just escaped.

_/"We had this discussion before, Doc. There's no choice."/_

No choice. It was his job to make the decisions that protected his team. Though it got down to the wire, this one had protected his team. And while Beckett might not be an assigned member of his team, but John had long considered him an honorary one since the only times Beckett went off world really was with them. Still, Carson wasn't a soldier anymore than Rodney was. Carson's profession, by nature, was not going to let him choose any path that led to the loss of life. John knew it had taken months for Carson to recover from what happened on Hoff, and even then, he knew the doctor hadn't forgotten.

No one ever forgot. You just simply learned to live with it, instead. John would have never had survived Afghanistan if he hadn't had that mentality. He wasn't sorry for his choices. He was just sorry he found himself in the position to have to make them in the first place.

He wasn't sure exactly how long he stared at the sky, but it must have been a while as he heard the clatter of dishes in the nearby cafeteria, as the staff started to filter in to prepare for breakfast. He cast one last look at the sky before grabbing his radio and positioning it in his ear.

He'd only gotten a few feet down the hall when Elizabeth's voice tapped in. "Colonel Sheppard."

"Look, I promise I'm coming, Elizabeth. I'll be there—"

"John, Dr. Harper is taking Carson into surgery."

Surgery? Morrison's team or not, he never should have left Carson behind on that planet. Elizabeth was still talking over the radio, but he paid little attention and made a beeline for the infirmary.

* * *

Carson had thankfully been beamed down to the Atlantis infirmary without much of an audience. Rodney, Teyla, and Ronan had reappeared at his bedside shortly before they'd arrived in range, but were sent to the control room to meet Elizabeth Weir, no doubt, so only Jenkins had accompanied him. And the Daedalus physician was more than glad to hand his care off to Dr. Biro as quickly as possible. It had taken Carol Biro less than ten minutes to do her initial exam and get Carson under the scanner.

He tried to not think of anything as he watched the device run its beam over his aching head. He was still dizzy and didn't want to admit it, and had barely passed the last two of Jenkins' neuro exams. But mainly he was tired, physically and emotionally. The physical could heal, he knew. It was the emotional weariness that he feared.

Ten minutes after the scan was complete, he studied the IV needle in his hand as Carol went over the results.

"There is evidence of bleeding."

Carson's head picked up sharply at her words. He hissed at the pain that flared from the action.

"But the CT…"

"Was done eleven hours ago," Biro countered. "This looks new, so I'm not surprised it wasn't seen on a typical CT. It doesn't look too serious at this point and may stop on its own, but we don't have much data to work with when it comes to Wraith mind probing, you know. I'm going to get Rob Harper to come down and take a look."

He blinked. Rob Harper was a surgeon on his staff, with expertise in trauma and neurosurgery. "No reason to call him in if it's minor. I'm much more coherent than I was a few hours ago."

"So you admit you were incoherent earlier?" Biro asked with a raise of her eyebrow as she scribbled a few words across his chart. He make a mental note to grab for it the second he could. "It's a consult, Carson. You'd do the same. Harper is on in a half-hour anyway."

"I have a headache, Carol. Not a bloody-"

An intense wave of pain hit his forehead, amplifying his headache to an unbearable level. He closed his eyes, his hand going to for his temple. He heard the monitors behind him beeping unhappily behind him.

_/"How many years of your life will I have to take away before you tell me what I want to know?"/_

His hand was eased down to the blankets and Biro was calling across the infirmary.

_/"Look, they don't tell me this sort of thing. I'm just a doctor."/_

As quickly as the pain started, it faded. He felt the band of the automatic BP cuff tighten again around his arm as he blinked his eyes back open, letting the flashback fade into background. The miserable, but not completely unbearable, headache remained. He was, however, now extremely dizzy and the only thing kept him from closing his eyes again was the look on Biro's face.

She was not happy.

Neither was Rob Harper when the less-then-pleasant man arrived at his bedside moments later. He studied the scanner images with decidedly miffed look on his face, though Carson had to wonder if it was any different than his normal expression. Harper was known for his impressive surgical skills, not his bedside manner. The man's true lack of social skills sometimes reminded Carson of Rodney. Therefore, it was unsurprising that Rodney and Harper did not get along. Rodney would only allow Carson to examine him after one experience that was only noted in his chart by Harper as "disagreeable."

If he could remember that detail, Carson figured his long-term memory was fine. He'd finally remembered the events that occurred after Sheppard's team had rescued him, even if they told him things he'd rather have forgotten. But Michael...if only he could remember what Michael had…

A brief sharp stabbing pain hit his forehead at the mere thought of Michael. Through the pain he vaguely wondered why? He given up the failsafe, had to, hadn't he? Could he remember? Or was there something keeping him from remembering?

Harper flashed a penlight in his right eye when that thought occurred to him. He winced, turning from it, but Harper's reflexes were faster and he reached a hand out, turning Carson's head back into the light.

"Something won't let me remember," Carson told him, knowing the thought would likely confuse the surgeon.

Sure enough, the man gave him an odd look. Behind him, Biro also looked confused. "Something won't let you remember what?" Harper repeated.

"Every time I try and remember what Michael," he paused, gritting his teeth and squinting his eyes at the pain Michael's name seemed to bring, "did or got from me, I-" The room span, the dizziness that had plagued him growing. He swallowed against the nausea that started to form in the pit of his stomach.

"I need to-" He stopped short; the nausea and vertigo packed quite a punch. He didn't relish the thought of vomiting. And if he had his way, he would not be doing it.

Harper and Biro wore twin expressions of concern.

_/"You're exactly what I need."/_

Carson realized a moment too late he wasn't going to get his way. Biro, bless her heart, had the foresight to shove a basin under his chin just in time for him to dry heave into it. After he was done, he laid back, feeling utterly spent. The room was still spinning, his head still pounding. His breathing hitched and he felt someone replace the oxygen cannula he'd convinced Biro he didn't need before she'd put him under the scanner.

Something was wrong and this time, he wasn't too sure it was simply emotional.

"I want another scan," Harper said. "Now."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: For those of you still following this tale, I'm thinking perhaps 2 chapter after this, with perhaps an epilogue. I'm letting my muse guide this one, as it veered a bit off the outline I'd originally made. Carson h/c ahead; next chapter will take us back to Sheppard and the team.**

**As always, feedback is always appreciated. **

**

* * *

**

Carson barely remembered the second scan. Harper had piled him with more Compazine and a whopping dose of morphine before hand, probably hoping it make would his boss easier to deal with. Normally Carson would have argued with him, but frankly, he felt too poorly to protest and the morphine hadn't settled his immense migraine a tad.

The results of said scan, however, weren't good. Harper only shoved the digital pictures in his sightline for a brief moment before yanking them away.

"There's an epidural hematoma," Harper said, before turning away. "How the hell did it not come up on the first scan here? Did it develop that rapidly? Someone prep OR 1."

OR 1? Carson blinked through the morphine haze to grab Biro's arm as she passed by his bed. "Carol?"

She tried to give him a smile, but it came out more like a grimace. "Don't worry, Carson. You know we'll take good care of you."

Take good care of him? What was going on? He wanted to ask more questions, but Biro was already hurrying off by the time he could even try to open his mouth again. An epidural hematoma. Neurosurgery. Bloody brain surgery.

What had Michael done? Or more importantly, what he had let Michael done? He had tried to resist the probe, that fact he was certain of. He squeezed his eyes shut, pushing past the headache, the dizziness, and the nausea. There had to be something to remember; something that might help his retain some of his dignity and more importantly, his sanity.

A searing pain ran through his forehead, sending his heart rate soaring and the monitors behind him whined in protest. There was the scurrying of feet around him, Biro's voice in the distance, along with a nurse's voice he knew he should have recognized. He forced his eyes back open, the room swirling in a vast array of colors.

Pain. Physical and emotional. That was what he could remember. And it didn't let him see past it.

"Dr. Beckett?"

He blinked to try and clear his vision past the dizziness, finally succeeding on the fourth attempt. Another member of his staff stood at the foot of his bed, dressed in scrubs. He knew her and searched a moment for her name. Gayle. That was it. Gayle O'Brien. She was an anesthesiologist. His long-term memory was still intact.

She was holding his chart and what he gauged was equipment for a blood draw. Hadn't they done that already? He reached a hand towards a taped down piece of gauze on his right forearm. O'Brien smiled.

"I want a blood gas. I figured when it's for the boss, I should do it myself."

Crap. He'd done that procedure enough in his career to know it wasn't extremely pleasant. "I'd rather if we could skip it all together, really," he joked weakly.

"No dice," O'Brien replied. "But I'm pretty good at it, you know." And sure enough, she was. Either that or a needle directly into the artery in his wrist paled in comparison to his headache and the rest of his current symptoms. She asked him all the necessary pre-operative questions, most which were thankfully simple to answer as he could remember he'd never had a general anesthetic before. He'd always been the healthiest out of the seven Beckett children and still had his tonsils and appendix. The fact that this was all happening so fast and was so new was disconcerting.

But when he thought of the sheer terror he'd felt after finding himself tied to a gurney in a tent alone with Michael on a plant with no Stargate, surgery, even brain surgery, seemed tame.

_/"But with the ship gone, what's the point? You've no hope of escape," he'd told Michael as the Wraith hybrid marched his through the forest, hands tied behind his back._

_"That's where you are wrong," Michael answered and raised a hand to the four converted Wraith behind him. The camp was in view./ _

"Carson? What is going on? I try to get that scalpel-happy pathologist of yours to finally tell us what is taking so long and she tells to me to stay put and that you're going into surgery?"

Rodney's frantic voice appeared out of nowhere and Carson blinked again to find O'Brien had left and Rodney was now in her place. When had that happened? He'd establish that his long-term memory was still present, but he was loosing small chunks of time in the present.

_/"How am I bloody wrong?" he shot back. "There's no Stargate on this planet and you can't possibly believe a passing hive would welcome you again." He had no idea where the boldness in his words came from, as bravery certainly wasn't something he'd thought he had much of on reserve. But Michael had him. Michael would probably kill him._

_"I don't need them to welcome me, Doctor. You are forgetting that there are plenty of others that can connect to a hive as well."/_

"Dr. McKay, I told you to wait outside with Teyla, Ronon, and Dr. Weir. What are you doing back here?"

The memory faded, leaving behind a headache that pushed past the morphine fog. He saw that Biro was heading towards them, now dressed in scrubs, with an undone surgical mask tied around her neck. She peered through her glasses to glare at Rodney.

"What I am doing back here?" Rodney repeated, hands flying as he talked. "I'm not sitting out there while you and that pathetic excuse for a surgeon-"

"Dr. Harper and I will take good care of Dr. Beckett," Carol interrupted. "But you'll only be in the way back here."

"You're not telling me something, I know it. Carson's dying, isn't he?"

"I'll be fine, Rodney," he told him, hoping he sounded convincing. Truth was the fact that he'd developed a hematoma was most definitely alarming, probably more so since he could list each of every complication that could arise from such an ailment, including death. He was surprised he was even this coherent, but a period of lucidity was often a symptom of an epidural hematoma, and without surgical intervention, it was only a matter of time before he started rapidly declining. Perhaps the diagnosis should not have been such a shock as there was no telling what the real physical effects of long-term Wraith mind probing actually were. Colonel Sheppard had some experience with it, which he'd studied, but Sheppard hadn't be subjected to the process nearly as long as Michael had-

Carson stopped himself mid-thought. He had no way of truly knowing how long Michael had probed his mind, really.

Biro managed to push Rodney away from his bed and back towards the rear of the infirmary which held a small waiting area he'd set up the during his second week on Atlantis. It was really just a corner, flanked by an a few Ancient exam beds, but it was tucked away in such a way that those waiting were shielded from any activity in the main infirmary areas.

And it was rarely used, as he found himself hard pressed to keep team members out of the main infirmary when someone on their team was injured. Still, Carol Biro, for all her rambling tendencies, was a battle-ax and Rodney soon disappeared from his view.

_/"Others?" They reached the edge of the camp and he found himself herded into the very tent he'd set up his own lab. Michael pushed him harshly towards the gurney. What was his plan? To tie him to it? To do so, Michael would need to untie his current bindings and retie them. He might have a chance to run for it._

_But run where? He'd just pointed out to Michael that there was no Stargate on this planet. There was no way out. Still, what could Michael possibly hope to gain from him?_

_He got part of his answer in the form of Merrik, entering the tent with a syringe. He'd trained Merrik well, too well, and tried to turn away, but it was no use. He felt the bit of the needle and the drug hit his system quickly._

_"Get him on the gurney." Those were the last word he heard as he __faded into the darkness./_

Another stabbing pain shot through his skull and Carson tensed a bit, forced again to let the flashback fade. Bits and pieces were returning, right up until the probe and then, blank.

Only pain.

He felt weak at the idea of never knowing what was taken, or rather, what he'd given up. But he had little time to contemplate any further as O'Brien popped back into view brandishing a syringe. A few moments later, he found himself drifting on a sea of pre-op sedation.

_/"Now let's...begin."/_


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Long chapter, longer than I thought it would be! Back to Sheppard and the team, including a bit of banter. Thinking 1-2 more chapters. **

**As always, please let me know if you enjoying it! Spread the Carson fic love :).**

**

* * *

**

John arrived at infirmary to find Elizabeth, Teyla, and Ronon in the corner Beckett had deemed the waiting area when he'd first set up the infirmary. It was flanked by one of the Ancient examining tables, on which a laptop – Rodney's probably, he figured – and a couple of stray handheld Ancient devices had been set up and abandoned. It was easy to see the worry on Teyla's and Elizabeth's faces. Ronon was leaning against the wall, his face not revealing anything, as usual.

"Surgery?" was the first word out of his mouth and directed at no one in particular, despite the fact that it was Weir that had radioed him.

"Ow, watch it!" McKay suddenly appeared in view, herded into the space by Dr. Biro. John noted the woman was in full surgical dress and she didn't stay to exchange any pleasantries.

"Surgery?" he repeated.

"Voodoo," Rodney shot at him. "His staff just want to carve into Carson like a turkey, I'll bet." He headed straight for his laptop.

"Rodney-" Weir started, but was waved off as Rodney picked up one of Ancient devices and started pacing.

"He looked awful, Elizabeth. But he was conscious. And then Biro threw me out."

"Threw you out?" John was beginning to felt like as he doing was repeating himself. "What the hell is going on?"

"Rodney did not listen to Dr. Biro when she asked us to remain here while she treated Dr. Beckett," Teyla supplied. Rodney let out a short huff at the word "treated."

"Treated Carson?" Again, he was a parrot. He turned to Elizabeth. "You said he was in surgery."

"He is," Rodney answered. "Or will be. I'm still not sure that is a good idea, really." His pacing continued and Sheppard was finding himself getting dizzy watching him.

"His staff know what they are doing," Elizabeth said to him.

"No," Rodney countered. "Carson knows what he is doing. The rest of them are idiots." His pacing picked up speed for a few seconds until Ronon stepped away from the wall directly into his path, bringing Rodney to a screeching halt.

"Stop. Now." Rodney ignored him and made a beeline to his laptop, tossing the Ancient device that had been in his hand aside, forgotten.

"I'm not really getting much information here, guys."

"Dr. Biro said that Carson has an epidural hematoma," Elizabeth finally supplied.

John blinked. "Okay…"

"He has a blood clot in his brain, Colonel," Rodney clarified. "Probably from whatever Michael did to him on that planet."

Blood clot. From Michael. Shit. The guilt he'd felt earlier threatened to rear its head, but he pushed it away and there wasn't time to consider it now.

"Yes," Elizabeth agreed with a soft sigh. "Which was what again?"

"Dr. Beckett had not been able to remember," Teyla answered. "He was very confused when he awakened on the Daedalus and slept much of time. But the failsafe device Colonel Sheppard set up on the planet—"

"Failed to detonate," John interrupted. "I briefed Elizabeth from the Daedalus. We all know what happened."

"We don't," Ronon pointed out. "He did something to Beckett." The "he" was left unsaid; John knew Ronon didn't care to think of any Wraith as having a name, especially a hybrid they'd created and he'd never seen as anything but a Wraith. "We don't know what it was."

"Okay, there is that," John agreed, running a tired hand through his hair.

"Well, it obviously wasn't something very good considering Carson is having brain surgery at the moment."

"Thanks for stating the obvious, Rodney." John took a few steps towards the exam bed and leaned against it, tilting his head down a moment. He wasn't sure he wanted another reminder that he'd failed to protect the doctor. He felt a soft hand on his forearm and glanced back up to find Elizabeth had vacated her seat and was standing next to him.

"Biro said Harper was very optimistic." She squeezed his arm. "Not your fault."

"Not your fault?" Rodney repeated. "We left Carson behind with Morrison's team and no Stargate to escape through."

"Morrison's team was one of best we had," John countered. Why did Rodney McKay, of all people, have to be the one that verbalized his one regret? He'd left Beckett behind and while he'd been rescued, they'd still lost some very good men.

He'd let them all down, really, even if it was indirectly.

"He was," Elizabeth said. "But I was one that formed an alliance with Michael in the first place and we gave the drug again to him against his will. We'll all have reports to write, and the IOA will love every word of it, I'm sure, but we made a decision with the facts we had. And for the moment, I'm still in command, so I'm calling an end to the blame game."

"Yes, well, I'll be sure to fill my report with big words that sound important so you stay that way," Rodney offered, his hands clicking away at his keyboard. John hadn't a clue what the physicist could be working on, but had a feeling he wasn't really working on much of anything. When worried, work was a good distraction for Rodney.

Actually, he knew damn well that it was a good distraction for all of them. With perhaps the exception of Teyla, who used mediation to try and find peace, the rest of them found comfort in their various roles on Atlantis. If John found Elizabeth up and reading reports in the early hours of the morning, he knew something was bothering her. Ronon would work out, usually holding sparring matches with a few of the Marines, and winning each and every round. John could understand working out worry or guilt that way. After all, kicking ass could solve a lot of things.

John found himself rearranging duty roosters or poking his nose into other people's projects. When he didn't want to think was usually when he showed up in the science labs and volunteered to be Zelenka's ATA gene guinea pig. If he was particularly avoiding something, he might even ask Rodney. But McKay, for some reason - probably because Rodney didn't like admitting how easily Ancient technology seemed to operate for him - preferred using Beckett as his light switch. Carson, of course, hated it.

Carson. The doc had to be okay. He'd figured there would be emotional repercussions. There was rarely a mission where there wasn't and it was why Kate Heightmeyer rarely had open slots in her schedule. John had seen her a couple of times, mostly when Weir had ordered him to after the whole almost transforming into a Wraith incident, and it had been somewhat useful. He'd been in combat; therapy was nothing new to him. He didn't like it, really, but he didn't hate it. He'd frustrated a few therapists, but Heightmeyer didn't get frustrated easily.

Beckett should talk to her. He'd tell Elizabeth and she'd see to it, no doubt. Once he was recovered.

If he recovered. Elizabeth may have stopped the verbal blame game, but it still continued in his head.

Fault. It was hard to not find it. When something went wrong, there had to be a reason. Decisions, hard decisions, were made daily on Atlantis. The Wraith were out to destroy them, to find Earth and when something like this happened, it was difficult to not want to go back with a fine toothed comb and examine every detail.

Still, John wasn't really the type to have to do such a thing. Yes, there was always something to be gained from a failed military mission, but instead of dwelling on it, you took the facts and used them to plan the next maneuver. In all of this, there had to be something gained. Michael slipped out of their grasp, but they knew he wouldn't be accepted against the Wraith. And that was a fact they could use to their advantage.

If only they knew what he had learned from Beckett. At the thought of Carson, John's gaze moved towards the edge of the main infirmary.

He'd be okay. Had to be.

Silence had long fallen between the four of them. The infirmary was relatively empty; it was still early in the morning, with no teams due to return and most of the city at breakfast. Teyla volunteered to go get food and took Ronon with her. They returned with a couple of trays, but John didn't touch any of the food. Really, it was only Rodney and Ronon that ate; Rodney had always been a stress-eater and Ronon's appetite was never affected by anything.

It was Rodney that eventually broke the quiet. Still munching a piece of cold toast, he turned from his laptop. "It's been a long time." The words held a tone of quiet concern, which was a stark contrast to his usual irritated loudness.

"Dr. Biro did say it would be a couple of hours," Teyla said. "I am sure Carson will be fine."

"Fine," Rodney repeated. "Yeah, fine." He waved his hand. "Still…"

"Rodney, we're all worried." Elizabeth had gotten up out of her chair, her arms crossed against her chest. It was a stance John had seen a couple of times when he'd radioed through the 'gate that they needed a medical team on stand-by. "I'm used to it being…"

"…one of us and waiting for Beckett to brief you?" John finished.

Elizabeth gave him a faint smile. "Yes, and it's usually you, John."

"Hey," he protested. "McKay has a larger file than I do!"

"I do not! I can name a dozen more times that you've been here than I have. That life-sucking bug-"

"Which we agreed to never ever mention again," he interjected.

"Stunner blasts, gunshot wounds, feed on by a Wraith, attacked by a super Wraith and almost turned into-"

"Okay, that one we *definitely* agreed to not mention again! Do you want me to start mentioning all the times Carson's treated you? Starting with you fainting—"

"I passed out from manly hunger!" Rodney protested.

"You fainted, Rodney. And you've taken a few stunner blast yourself, you know. And there was that whole sharing-consciousness-with-Cadman—"

"Which we are not allowed to talk about!"

"—and the kiss, which I'm sure Carson—"

Rodney put a hand over his ears. "Not talking about this. It didn't happen."

"Boys," Elizabeth finally interrupted, her tone firm. "I think you've both given Carson and I an ulcer with your uncanny ability to get injured." She paused. "Though Carson…"

"Has been injured before as well," Teyla said. "I believe Sora gave him a concussion during the storm on Atlantis."

"She did. Carson *fainted*," Rodney shot him a pointed look, "in the control room right after I got the shield up."

"When did that happen?" Ronon asked.

"Before you arrived when we were still cut off from Earth," Elizabeth answered. "He drove his staff crazy when they got back."

John remembered that. When he'd finally stopped through the infirmary after all had settled he'd found an irritated medical staff trying unsuccessfully to keep their boss in bed. "He'll probably do the same this time around," he mused.

"Oh, I have no doubt he will."

John turned at the voice to see Dr. Biro walk towards them, still dressed in scrubs, her glasses slightly askew. She adjusted them as she stopped in front of Weir. She smiled. "It went well. We'll be monitoring him closely, of course, but I'm sure he'll be the one giving *me* a headache in a couple of days. And in a few weeks, he should be fine."

Elizabeth let out a small sigh, her head nodding. "That's great news."

"Yes, yes," Rodney agreed, moving to stand next to Elizabeth. "Can we see him? I don't know if I can trust your voodoo—"

Biro held up her hand. "Do I need to remind you that your annual physical is in two weeks, Dr. McKay, and that Dr. Beckett certainly won't be back on duty by then?"

Rodney stepped back a little at her words and John almost laughed a little.

"He's in recovery," Biro continued. "He'll be moved out to the main ward in an hour or so, once he recovers from the anesthesia a bit. He's never had surgery before, interestingly enough, so we weren't sure how-"

Biro had a tendency to ramble a bit, John remembered, as Beckett had mentioned it once or twice, so he cut her off. "Can we see him?" he repeated. Though John still wasn't sure Carson would be too pleased to wake up and find him at his bedside. Still, he wanted to see that the doc was okay. Alleviate his guilt a bit, as well, he knew.

Hope the guilt and devastation he'd seen on Beckett's face before he'd passed out would not be there.

He knew that one was a long shot.

Biro stopped her sentence and nodded. "As long as you're," she glanced at McKay, her eyes narrowing, "quiet."

"Oh, of course, you look directly at me. Why not at anyone else? Maybe Conan here is loud." Ronon just stepped up behind McKay, his height and bulk shadowing him. "Or not. What about Colonel I'm-the-one-usually-needing-surgery, then?"

John exchanged a glance with Teyla and then Elizabeth, who pursed her lips to hide a smile.

"Shut up, Rodney," the three of them chorused together, Ronon doing his part by pushing Rodney towards Biro and the infirmary's surgical recovery ward.

It didn't take long to get there. The ward only contained four beds and was set in a quiet area on the edge of the main infirmary that happened to also border Beckett's office. In fact, Beckett's door was open and as they passed it, John could see a cluster of paperwork on his desk held in place by a lone teacup that John knew Beckett's mother had sent. He also noticed a child's drawing taped to the open door, featuring a few stick figures in crayon. The words 'we miss you' had been written at the bottom, most likely by an adult hand.

"His niece drew it," Elizabeth commented, noticing him glance at it. "He has more inside."

"Niece?" John repeated.

"Carson has six older sisters, Colonel. A few of them have reproduced," Rodney said.

Six older sisters? Why hadn't he known that particular fact? He'd known Beckett had siblings, sure, and a mother he claimed was fragile and Rodney insisted was anything but, having actually met the woman. He needed to pay more attention, apparently.

He wondered how to fix that, as Biro led them to the fourth bed in the ward. There was another female doctor there, dressed in scrubs and scribbling some notes across what John could assume was Beckett's chart. Biro greeted her, but John paid little attention, his eyes going to the figure in the bed.

Carson was extremely still and pale. There was an IV running into one arm, and another one in the other arm at the wrist. John winced in sympathy, recognizing the arterial line as he'd had one on a couple of occasions. There were large dark circles under his eyes, an oxygen tube tucked under his nose, and wires were attached to head and snaking out from the collar of his scrub top to a couple of monitors. A loose bandage started at Carson's hairline, and extended a couple of inches past it; the small patch of hair in its path shaved.

He thought Carson looked awful.

Rodney agreed and actually verbalized the thought. Biro simply waved him off. "He's had a traumatic brain injury and surgery. It will take some time to recover. Ten minutes, all of you. Then you wait until we transfer him to the main ward." With that, she left, taking the additional physician with her.

Teyla reached out to touch Carson's arm, Elizabeth behind her. Rodney and Ronon stood on the other side of the bed. He lingered at the foot of the bed, feeling slightly awkward.

The doc would be okay. Still, John still hated the idea he was even lying in that bed in the first place. He was reminded that they had no clue what Michael had gain by probing the doctor's mind. The military commander in him wanted the details to plan a strategy, but he told himself that right now Carson wasn't just part of his team. He was his friend, even though he hadn't known exactly how many sisters the man had. Yes, the report would be written, but now he needed to be a friend back.

And that meant looking past the guilt and hoping Carson might look past it as well.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Okay, I lied. Two more chapter after this one? Maybe? There's a plot twist in there eventually, I promise. Again, folks let me know if you're still reading as it motivates me to write faster.**

**

* * *

**

Sounds were muffled. Carson felt like his head was stuffed with cotton and he blinked his eyes open to only find himself greeted by an extremely blurry world around him. His eyes threatened to close again. Why was he so tired?

"Dr. Beckett?"

His name. Someone was calling his name. He squinted to see a shadow a few inches from his face. No, not a shadow. A person. It was a person.

"Dr. Beckett."

He wanted to respond, but his brain refused to cooperate. Instead, he turned his head, managing only a groan. His throat hurt and his head dully throbbed, he vaguely realized, and he had no idea why.

"Surgery's finished, Carson. We're moving you into recovery."

Surgery? Why did he need surgery? His eyes closed and he drifted off again.

_/His head felt heavy, his eyelids hard to blink open. But something was wrong and he knew that he needed be awake, no matter how difficult it was to do so. He tried to lift his hand to his head, to rub it, but found he couldn't._

_His wrists were tied down. His eyes flew open._

_Michael's half-Wraith, half-human face greeted him, only a few feet from his eyes. He stared a moment; it hadn't taken long for the transformation to begin, shorter than it had before, it seemed. Michael started walking around him and that's when Carson realized he'd been tied to the gurney in the center of his main medical tent._

_"How many have reverted?" he finally spat out. The drug he'd been given was clearing quickly and he remembered the events prior. Merrin probably gave him a short-acting sedative, as he'd often been inquisitive about medicine in general while learning how to administer the injections. _

_"Those you saw in the forest, plus a few more."_

_Only a few? He felt a sense of dread enter him as he thought of the fact that there had been roughly two hundred converted humans on the planet. And if only a few…_

_"And the others?" he asked, knowing full well what the answer would be._

_Michael almost smiled. "They will serve as an offering to the hive that's coming for us."/_

He jerked at the memory, his stomach churning. His mind was still heavy, bogged down. Surgery, he thought…had Michael performed…? No, that wasn't it. His head was aching slightly, throat hurting, heart pounding. His eyes felt glued shut. But still the nausea persisted. He heard the sound of retching. It took him a few seconds to realize that he wasn't just the one hearing it, he was the one doing it as well.

"Gross, Carson!"

Rodney's voice. Not Michael. Atlantis. He had to be in Atlantis.

Hands were settling him back against a soft pillow and he finally managed to crack his eyes open, his head protesting at the sudden surge of bright light. His mouth was dry and tasted awful. He grimaced.

"Come on, Carson. Least you can do after puking on my shoes is to wake up this time."

This time? Had he vomited before? He squinted past the brightness, still feeling like there was a layer between him and the rest of the world. "Rodn'y," he croaked. He sounded as bad as he felt. He wondered if he looked any better. He felt a soft and slender hand grab his and squeeze gently. The world slowly came into focus.

Rodney was standing to his left, wearing only what Carson could describe as a relieved grin. He turned his head slightly to find that it was Elizabeth's hand griping his and she, too, flashed him a big smile. Just beyond them were Teyla and Ronon. And at the far foot of the bed stood Colonel Sheppard, his hands awkwardly crossed.

He squinted at them a moment. What had happened?

"You had surgery," Elizabeth told him gently.

Huh, had she read his mind or had he managed to say that last part out loud? He blinked at her. "'lizabeth," he mumbled, which was an improvement over a croak, but not by much.

"Why is he so disorientated? Where's Biro? Or that sadist Harper?" Rodney's voice again, but Carson didn't feel like turning his head.

"He's still coming out the anesthesia, Rodney. You should have enough experience with that to know it takes a while." Sheppard. His hands were no longer awkwardly crossed, they now gripped the edge of the bed, resting on either side of the clips holding a chart.

A chart. His chart. That would give him answers.

"I don't have as much experience as you do, Colonel."

But how could he get at said chart? His body felt like lead, the anesthesia apparently still in his system. He lifted a hand up, only to find an IV line in his way. The other arm revealed an arterial line in his wrist. Bloody wonderful. Though foggy, he was well aware of the presence of those were probably only the beginning of the rest of the things his staff had plugged into. He moved his right hand again, gaining enough slack on the IV line to reach up to his face, feeling the oxygen cannula in place under his nose and explaining the dryness in his nose and mouth.

"Leave that alone, Carson."

His hand was guided back to the bed and he sighed, swallowing. He winced at the soreness in his throat. So he'd also been intubated, most likely for the surgery.

"My chart," he mumbled. "'ass up my chart."

"Your chart is not something you need to read right now, Dr. Beckett." Biro. He blinked, finding the woman at the foot of his bed. Hadn't Sheppard just been there?

Biro had moved around to his right, his chart in her hand. "Still nauseous?" she asked.

Still? When had he been before? He didn't remember that. He'd never experienced general anesthesia before and if this was how one felt waking up from it, he hoped he could avoid it again for the rest of his life. He felt disjointed and tired beyond belief.

"Carson?"

Carol's eyes were peering at him over the rims of her glasses. Oh right, she wanted an answer. He nodded. She turned, giving orders to someone just out of his sightline. Drug orders, he knew, but if asked could not for the life of him remember what she'd asked for.

"It can't be normal for him to be this out of it." Rodney again.

"It is perfectly normal, Dr. McKay," Biro answered. "Dr. Beckett's vitals are within acceptable ranges, he just needs to work the anesthesia out of his system." A nurse returned, handing off a vial and syringe. He frowned. A vial of what?

"Compazine, Carson," Biro answered. Apparently he must have said that last part out loud, or his staff and friends were excellent at reading his mind. Biro brought the vial closer for a moment so that he could blurrily read the label. He waved it away and she started measuring out the amount.

"Dr. Harper will be by shortly to do a full exam, but surgery went well."

Surgery. That's right, he'd had surgery.

_/"You're exactly what I need."/_

Suddenly, it flooded back to him.

"Hematoma," he said, pleased to realize it wasn't mumbled this time around.

"Yes," Biro comfirmed. "Epidural hematoma, to be exact. Glad to see you remember." She held up the syringe. "Want to confirm your full name, birthday, and where you are for me as well?"

He could do that. "Carson Angus Beckett," he started. His throat hurt and he grimaced again at the soreness.

"The rest and I'll give you this and get you some ice chips for your throat."

Magic words. "January 5, 1969," he continued. "And I'm in my own infirmary." He blinked. "Head full of cotton, though."

"I'm sure," Biro commented as she reached for his IV line. "Pain rating on the one to ten scale? Harper will be by in ten minutes to give you a full report, and I imagine you'd like to remember it."

He would and considered her question for a moment. The remnants of the anesthesia did seem to be keeping the headache at a manageable level, he realized, though he recalled that most patients didn't report much post-operative pain after a craniotomy. Only the incision seemed to truly painful at the moment.

"Four," he finally answered. "Fuzzy enough to not care really though."

"And the compazine will help a little more with that as well." She inserted the needle into his IV port, pushed the plunger down, and removed it. "I'll get Julie to bring by some ice chips," she promised and walked away. Rodney moved into her vacated spot.

"Angus, seriously?" he asked.

"My father's name," he responded, grimacing again at the sour taste in the back of his mouth. It didn't help the lingering nausea and he hoped the compazine kicked in quickly. "And no judging, Rodney, or should I say-"

"Nothing," Rodney interrupted loudly. "You'll say nothing. Oh look, Carson, the nurse has ice chips!"

Sure enough, Julie was there, handing up a cup and spoon to Elizabeth. He eyed it eagerly, Rodney's full name temporarily forgotten, and lifted his hand towards the cup in Elizabeth's hand. He missed it by a couple of inches and frowned.

"I think your coordination is still a bit off," Elizabeth commented. "Why don't I help?"

"I can do it," he insisted. "Where's the bed…?" He moved his hand blindly. It was Rodney, however, that found it and put in his hand. When the bed rose, he was hit with an immediate wave of dizziness and nausea he hadn't been anticipating. He tried taking deep breaths through the cannula and while it helped the dizziness fade, the extra oxygen only magnified his nausea. The compazine hadn't really had a chance to take effect and he swallowed desperately.

It was Sheppard who, out of nowhere it felt, shoved a basin under his chin just in time. He panted.

He was sick of vomiting.

"You done, doc?"

He nodded, looking up to find the rest of his friends had taken a few steps away from the bed, leaving John standing there, basin in hand. The Colonel gave him a lopsided smile.

"So your birthday is January 5th?" he asked. "That's my birthday, too, you know."

"Aye," he answered weakly, realized that he'd thought of changing the subject, and that, for the moment, Sheppard didn't seem at all irritated, though his brain told him he should be. "Though you're a couple of years older."

John just shook his head. "Don't remind me." His face sobered. "I'm glad you're okay, Carson."

The shift in tone was unexpected and Carson didn't know what to make of it. And he didn't get much of a chance to try, as Rob Harper chose that moment to arrive and roughly ordered everyone out. That included Elizabeth and the precious cup of ice chips, unfortunately, though Julie came to his rescue with another cup.

He started to nod off near the end of Harper's report. Harper had performed a craniotomy that evacuated the clot at the edge of frontal lobe that thankfully, hadn't required much shaving of his hair. The injured blood vessel had been ligated and he was awake and aware of time and place. Harper expected a full recovery in a few weeks.

All things considered, it could have been much worse. He could have been dead.

Or still in Michael's clutches.

Michael. As the anesthesia finally cleared, he found himself finally able to actually *think* about what might have happened. Before the blinding pain had stopped him short, the puzzle pieces jumbled. Now, with the pain at bay, he wondered if he could finally fit the pieces together.

_/"If your memory's coming back, you should remember what happened the last time you tried to rejoin the Wraith." He didn't brother struggling. He knew he was trapped._

_Michael was angry. "It will be enough to escape this rock!"_

_"So what do you need me for? I mean, there must be a reason you're keeping me alive." Again, he was bold with his words. Michael would certainly kill him, whether he cooperated or not._

_"I need to know what security measures Colonel Sheppard put in place before he left."_

_Okay, that. He didn't know the exact details, but he knew it was a bomb. And that was probably what Michael wanted to know. He wouldn't let him. "What're you talking about?" he asked, trying his very best to pretend he hadn't even heard of such a thing._

_"The more my memory returns, the more I begin to doubt that he would have left us here without setting up some kind of failsafe." Michael met his gaze and it took all his willpower to not turn away._

_"There's no way off this planet!" he insisted, pitching his voice a bit to sound convincing. "That *was* the failsafe!"/_

Failsafe. Colonel Sheppard had set one up, and he had been aware it existed, though most of the details were unknown. He ignored the pang of guilt at sharing even the little bit of information he had known with Michael, and instead thought about the idea of a failsafe.

Michael could have done the same thing.

Had Michael ensured that even if Carson were rescued, something would stop him from trying to remember the probe? Perhaps that something included a bleeding blood vessel and resulting clot?

He'd tried harder to remember what exactly Michael had discovered towards the end of the Daedalus' return to Atlantis. The CT scan there hadn't seen any active bleeding. Just more of a concussion effect, though he knew that bleeding was a complication that could manifest itself hours later and couldn't be activated by one's thoughts.

He also knew that on Earth, bugs didn't suck the very life out of humans, either.

He needed to see his scans. Compare them to Colonel Sheppard's from last year, as he was the only person that had any experience with a Wraith mind probe. However, he doubted he'd be able to really do so any time soon as it would require him to get out of bed. That was something his staff wouldn't be letting him do a for a couple of days, he feared. And while his headache had been decreased full the level it had been before surgery, he would admit he felt rather poor, like he hadn't slept in days and his body ached slightly all over. His hands shook when he tried to feed himself some ice chips earlier, his throat was still sore, and his stomach revolted at the idea of eating any time soon.

Still, he was here. He was alive. He'd been wrong. Michael hadn't broken him yet.

He knew the information he needed was his head, lurking. There had to be something he could from this bed. After all, he felt like he was close, but he wanted to speed up the process. He'd revealed too much, gave into the probe and somehow, he had to try and fix it. Not just for his sanity, but for everyone else's safety.

He pushed the call button, summoning a nurse. Julie appeared at his bedside.

"I want to see Dr. Heightmeyer," he told her. "And Colonel Sheppard."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Home stretch! One more chapter and an epilogue to go, I think. ****Thank you for the kind reviews; as always they are greatly appreciated!**

**

* * *

**

Sheppard was surprised that Beckett had requested his presence in the infirmary. He'd thought that once Carson was truly awake enough to remember what had happened, that he'd be low on the doctor's want-to-see list. But the nurse who'd found him said that Beckett was rather insistent and that he'd also asked to see Heightmeyer.

Now Heightmeyer, that was a request he understood. But why the hell did Carson also want him there? The only thing he could think of was that perhaps the man was mad enough at him to want a mediator.

"Carson, this might not be a good idea in your current medical condition."

Heightmeyer's voice, and it didn't sound too pleased, Sheppard noted as he made his way towards Beckett's bed in the infirmary.

"My current medical condition is stable." Beckett. "I need to do this, Kate."

"Do what?" he asked, causing both doctors to turn and look at him. Carson's eyes, however, squinted slightly at the motion.

Headache, no doubt. Beckett did look a bit better since the last time he'd seen him, but that wasn't to say he looked at all healthy. If anything, the shadows under his eyes were more pronounced and he was still attached to as much equipment as he had been a few hours previous.

"Hello, Colonel Sheppard," Heightmeyer greeted with a sigh. "Dr. Beckett wants to undergo hypnosis."

"Hypnosis?" His brow furrowed. "Look, I'm not a doctor, but is that such a great idea right now? Doc, you had your brain cut into like ten hours ago."

"Hypnosis has been used to reduce pain after surgery, even during surgery, something I'm sure Dr. Heightmeyer is aware of," Beckett replied. He looked determined, though Sheppard hadn't a clue why. He knew the doc didn't remember much about his ordeal with Michael, except that he'd advocated for the lives of the transformed Wraith and that he'd been against the bomb.

"I am well aware of that, Carson. But you don't want to use it for that. Plus, hypnosis can profoundly alter sensory awareness and cognitive processing, involving the frontal cortex. Hypnotic susceptibility has been linked with the efficiency of the frontal attention system, which, while you're now stable and on the mend, you still had surgery in that area a short time ago. You may not even be a good subject."

"I'd be just fine, trust me," Carson shifted slightly in the bed. "I'm a good subject. In medical school, I was the person all the first-year students practiced on. Very easily hypnotized, my professor said." His eyes shifted downward. "Probably made it easier for Michael, actually."

Heightmeyer placed her hand on his arm. "That, I doubt. We know it is impossible for any of us to resist a Wraith mind probe." She nodded her head toward John. "Even Colonel Sheppard."

"Sure," he agreed, not caring to revisit that memory at the moment. He could sympathize with Beckett, definitely, though the only physical effect he'd had was a hell of a migraine. But that didn't really explain why he was here and what Beckett expected to achieve with this idea. "Um, but while I understand why Heightmeyer is here, why am I?"

Beckett's gaze remained fixed on his blanket. "I've been compromised," he said. He moved his arm from Heightmeyer's touch and his fingers started picking at the tape holding the IV line in his other arm in place.

Sheppard took a step past Heightmeyer to reach out and move Beckett's fingers away from the IV, thinking briefly how at any other time he'd have found the role reversal amusing. "You shouldn't pick at that, Doc," he said simply instead. "And what do you mean, compromised?"

"I let Michael-"

"Whoah, you didn't let Michael do anything. Last I checked you didn't exactly give him permission to mind probe you."

Carson looked up at him. "No, I didn't," he agreed. "But I should have been able to resist…he found out about the bomb, Colonel. The only way he could have known was through me. And if he found that out, who knows what else he discovered."

"Resist? Doc, his mind probing caused enough damage that your brain was bleeding!" Beckett's expression didn't change; it clearly wasn't good enough reasoning for him.

"He is right," Heightmeyer echoed. "Does Dr. Biro or Dr. Harper know what you want to do?"

"It's none of their concern," Carson answered.

"Which means no," John translated. "You wouldn't let me pull this crap, Doc. No reason you can, either."

Heightmeyer sighed again, rather deeply. John had a feeling it was something she did often. She shook her head. "We're not doing this, Carson, until I get medical clearance from someone with an objective view of your condition. And we know that isn't you." She patted his arm again. "I think Carol is on duty, I'll go find her."

Beckett opened his mouth in what John was certain would be a protest, but he simply closed it a moment later and nodded. Heightmeyer gave them both a small smile and left to seek out the pathologist.

For a minute or two, there was only silence between the two of them. Sheppard wondered if he could do something to ease some of the tension he felt in the air. But he admittedly sucked at things like this. It was why he was a pilot and not a diplomat. Still, he'd give it his best shot.

"I want to apologize, Carson." Beckett blinked, and John could see that the use of his first name did not go unnoticed. He and Carson were friends, no doubt, but he still called him Doc or Beckett more often than Carson. "Not for the call I made. It wasn't exactly successful, true, but it was the right one. But I should have never let you stay on that planet and—"

"It's not your fault, Colonel," Carson interrupted, his voice still low. John watched his gaze drop down again. "I mean, yes, it was your call and I didn't agree with it being the right one, but it was a call you may have not had to make if I hadn't let Michael…"

John shook his head. "Not this again, doc. Stop beating yourself up. You're not a soldier. You're a doctor. You may need to get out a little more, sure, but…" He paused. "You don't need to do this."

"Aye, I do," Carson insisted. "Even you can't deny that knowing exactly what Michael learned would be useful."

"Useful, maybe, but we don't even know if he made off the planet. McKay could have hit him."

"No life signs on that planet, Colonel. I remember learning that much before I collapsed. I doubt Rodney hit them all, given the fact he'd said it was a long shot to do so. Even if he did, chances are all them wouldn't have died immediately. No life signs," he repeated. He leaned back in the bed, pressing his head into the pillow, closing his eyes.

"Carson?" First name, again. He was worried. Even though Biro and Harper had both said Beckett would be okay, John wasn't sure he truly believed it.

Carson's eyes opened. "Just a wee headache," he said. "Normal, I assure you."

"You need something for it?"

"No, lad. Just piece of mind. And frankly, I'm not going to get that unless I find out what happened. I…" He trailed off, his eyes focused straight ahead. "I won't let this, can't let this…"

Damn it. Guilt. Beckett was certain it was his fault. He moved to the foot of the bed to meet Beckett's gaze, staring directly into his eyes. "Doc, you've got to let it go."

Beckett snorted. "Easy for you to give advice you can't take yourself, John."

Now it was Sheppard's turn to blink at Carson's use of his first name. Well, the man had always seemed intuitive, even when he appeared clueless. Sheppard swore it was an act, a defense mechanism, especially when it came to operating Ancient technology. He'd seen Beckett operate all the Ancient devices in the infirmary with ease and would bet he had better control over the chair than he was willing to admit.

"Touché," he threw back.

"Besides, I'm the one who wanted to stay behind," Carson continued. "You did your best to try and convince me to do my research on Atlantis. Perhaps I should have listened." He reached up to pull at the oxygen cannula that was still in place under his nose.

John crossed back to the side of the bed to push Carson's hand down. "Doc, you should probably leave that alone."

Carson waved his hand away and pulled the tubing off his face. "Don't need it. My sats are fine. My staff is just being overly cautious."

"We are not being overly cautious, Dr. Beckett, and you are well aware of that fact." Sheppard almost jumped at Biro's voice. Damn, that woman could sneak up on you. He turned around to find her and Heightmeyer just behind him. Biro's arms were crossed.

"Carson," she continued, a warning tone to her voice and Beckett sighed, picking up the oxygen line.

"It amplifies the nausea," he explained.

"There is medication for that," Biro shot back.

"The compazine just makes me sleep," Beckett complained.

It was almost like watching a tennis match, Sheppard thought, and couldn't help feeling slightly amused. He'd had many conversations along the same lines with Beckett himself and it was interesting to see the tables turned.

"Sleep is just what you need anyway," Biro countered, her arms still crossed. "Though Dr. Heightmeyer tells me you had other plans?" Though she'd phased it as a question, she didn't give Carson a chance to answer. "No, Carson."

"Carol-"

She shook her head. "We have little to no data about Wraith mind-probing. This isn't just recovery from a craniotomy. Your vitals are stable, but that doesn't mean acceptable. Your BP and O2 sats are still lower than we'd like and a hypnotic state has the potential to depress them further."

"You've got me wired to monitor my vitals," Carson pointed out. "If something goes poorly, Kate can pull me out, I promise."

Biro looked unconvinced and shared a glance with Heightmeyer. The psychiatrist shrugged. Then the two of them looked at Sheppard, which he just found weird.

He just shrugged back in return. Biro's eyes narrowed for a moment, moving up towards the monitor next to Carson's head. Finally, she uncrossed her arms and reached for Beckett's chart.

"Fine, but I'm noting my reservations in writing. And the oxygen stays." She scribbled a note across the chart. "I hope this works for you."

"Me too," Beckett answered, his voice soft.

"I'll get my tape recorder," Heightmeyer said. "I assume you'll want to record this?"

Beckett nodded. Sheppard wondered if he should contact Weir. Elizabeth would not be pleased finding out about this later. He said as much to Beckett, who nodded again.

"She needn't come, though," he added. "Just you and Kate."

"Okay," he agreed and stepped away from the bed for a few minutes to contact Elizabeth via radio. She was surprised, much like he'd been, but agreed that anything Beckett might be able to remember from the experience would be worthwhile.

"Just make sure this doesn't hurt physically him, John," she told me. Emotionally was left unsaid, but he knew she didn't need to say it. He wasn't too sure he'd have any say in that, however. No one had any scope of the information Michael had gained, taken really, from Carson.

He ended his conversation with Elizabeth and headed back towards Carson's bed. A bedside table had been dragged in, and a recorder sat on top it. Heightmeyer was standing only a couple of feet from Carson on his right side. Biro was on the left, sitting in a chair, her eyes on the monitors as if she expected something to go wrong. To be honest, John had the same feeling.

He perched himself at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, waiting. Carson was turned to Heightmeyer. His eyes looked beyond tired, yet still as determined as they'd been previously.

"Ready?" Heightmeyer asked.

Beckett took a deep breath and nodded.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Disclaimer, not a therapist but researched my brain outs. So forgive me, actual therapists, for mistakes and tv dramatic license :). Epilogue to follow shortly!**

* * *

Carson hadn't been lying when he'd said he'd been an easy hypnosis subject. Too easy, however, were the exact words his professor had used and jokingly warned him about it. Carson had thought that advice meant to stay away from amateur hypnotic shows were they might get him to act like a fool by clucking like a chicken or such.

Of course, then, he'd never imagined he'd be working in another galaxy with a race of evil creatures that could connect to each other's minds through a neural network.

"Carson, I want you to fix your eyes right here." Heightmeyer pointed to her right eye with the index finger of her right hand. He followed her gaze. She didn't even blink.

"Don't take your eyes from mine. Don't move or speak or nod your head or say anything unless I ask you to. I know that you hear and understand me." Her voice was soft and controlled. "Now take a deep breath and fill up your lungs."

As she spoke her last line, she took a deep breath herself, and moved her right hand upwards as she did so. He followed her lead, breathing in through his nose, the vague metallic taste of the pure oxygen hitting the back of his tongue and then fading.

"Now exhale." He let the breath out. "That's fine," she continued. "Now take a second and deeper breath." Her right hand went up again as he breathed in. "Exhale." And out. Her hand went down. "Relax."

He already felt himself slipping, his mind already a bit sleepy. Easy. Too easy. Her hand was back up. "Now a third deep breath." In again. "And exhale." Hand down. He felt himself melting into the bed. She raised her hand back up.

"And now, I'm going to count from five to one. As I do, your eyelids will get heavy, drowsy. By the time I get to one, they will be so heavy you'll close them."

Close them? He was almost already there. "All right. Five." Her hand fell slightly. "Four. You feel heavy. Three." Her hand slipped further and he blinked, suddenly feeling tired beyond belief. Her eyes didn't blink, didn't shift from his.

"Two." His eyes started to close.

"One." They slide closed. He saw nothing but black.

"Relax," he heard Kate say, her tone still the same, soft, controlled, pleasant. "Let every muscle and nerve grow loose, limp, relaxed. Take a breath. Then another. With each breath, you are feeling more relaxed."

He floated.

"Nothing can hurt you here. Relax."

Another deep breath, he floated further.

"Carson, I want you think about the last time you went off-world." He stiffened immediately. There was a beeping in the far distance.

_/"How many years of your life to I have to take away before you tell me what I want to know?"/_

Heightmeyer's voice continued. "It is a memory. It can't hurt you. Deep breath." He inhaled through his nose and out through his mouth. Michael's face loomed in his vision, but it seemed removed somehow as if he were watching it from a distance.

"Where are you, Carson?"

"Planet," he replied, his tone steady. Calm. "Don't think we named it. We weren't going to stay."

"Who is there?"

"Michael," he answered and this time his voice dropped to a whisper. "I'm tied down."

_/"That's hardly a threat, since you're obviously going to kill me anyway," he spat at Michael. He had to as good as dead, and he didn't want to get Michael the satisfaction of knowing how absolutely terrified he felt. He wasn't a brave man, but the Pegasus galaxy had taught a few ways he could pretend to be one._

_"You underestimate your own value, Doctor," Michael answered back. He was taken back. Value? What value did he have? What could he want? The drug? Did he want to use it on the Wraith himself for a feeding ground?_

_"Look, they don't tell me this sort of thing," he insisted. "I'm just a doctor." Michael backed away slightly. "Maybe you shouldn't have been so quick to kill Lieutenant Morrison."_

_"I don't like to question military men. They're like our own Wraith warriors – unimaginative, rigid thought patterns. But you, on the other hand, are trained to have an open mind, and you have a strong sense of empathy toward others."_

_Empathy? He wished he had more empathy. If he did, he won't have let himself get involved in the experiment that got him here in the first place. "It's not as strong as it used to be, believe me," he answered, staring straight ahead, as far from Michael's face as he could manage to look._

_Michael leaned across him again, but he kept his eyes fixed in the same position. Wouldn't look at him. "You're exactly what I need," Michael said, almost cooing._

_The word "need" echoed inside Carson's mind. He swallowed, trying to push it away._

_"Now let's begin."_

_This time the word "begin" echoed and he felt his respiration rate increase greatly. Sweat started to trickle down his forehead. He needed to stay in control._

_-No use, Doctor.- It took him a minute to realize Michael hadn't addressed him out loud._

_No! This wasn't happening. He needed to block it. Forget anything, everything…_

___-_Your mind is exceptionally easy to read, Doctor. And you know exactly what I need._-_

_No! He felt his heart pounding, his vision starting to blur. Keep a grip, he told himself. He could do this._

___-_You are indeed extremely valuable, Doctor. I've already found out about the bomb. That will be simple to dispose of. But you have something of greater interest to me._-_

_What? What could he have? What could he-_

_He gasped, an extreme pain engulfing his brain. He felt as it someone had stuck a knife and was twisting greatly. His vision blurred again into a swirl of orange and red. Michael was still close._

_The pain was incredible. He wanted to pass out, pleaded to, but only heard laughter. It was almost as if something was piercing at his very soul._

_He had a brief flash to university, residency. A brain biopsy during a neurology rotation. His hands shook then, instrument in hand-_

_Pain. The image faded back into red. Then, oddly enough it started to diminish and the world was more than one color again._

_Michael was holding a needle._

_What…? Before his brain could gather itself enough to try and connect the dots, there was a new wave of pain. Images of Hoff circled, including a brief glimpse of Perna at her death bed. His heart was racing to the point where he was certain he'd have a heart attack. He gasped sharply, felt the sweat poring down his forehead._

_What do he want? What could he-_

The pain exploded and finally blackness./

"Get him out of it!"

Something was beeping frantically in the distance. There was a hand on his arm, shaking him. His head throbbed. His eyes felt too heavy to lift. The beeping continued to increase.

"Now!"

All he remembered was Michael.

He heard footsteps and more voices, but they grew distant as he drifted away.

* * *

It was six hours later when Carson was awake enough to acknowledge what had happened. His chart would simply read syncoptic episode, an extremely fancy medical term for fainting, something he thought Rodney might have a field day with as he'd probably preferred Carson had used that term three years previous. He'd been sedated, he'd learned, and it had explained why he awoke with a hung-over feeling and a very intense headache.

Still, he remembered everything.

Michael hadn't broken him. But he'd taken something, all right. And Carson hadn't an inkling what he intended to do with it.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N 8/8/10: I had a reviewer point out some similarities between my story and another unfinished wonderful fic here at ff dot net. I apologize for any similarities, but if there are, they are purely coincidental, as this fic was based off a plot bunny I found on my hard drive that a snippet and notes sketched out in late 2006 (according to the save stamp on my hard drive). It diverged a bit, but in the end, not really too much from my original notes (written before Kindred, actually, which just ended up working out and surprised the heck out of me!). I wasn't thinking of any other fic while writing, so I do hope no author is offended.**

**Back to scheduled end of fic!**

**Epilogue**

**

* * *

**

Thirty-six hours later, Sheppard found Carson in his infirmary bed trying, rather unsuccessfully, to type on his laptop. McKay sat in one of the two chairs beside his bed, poking at a data tablet.

"Should he be doing that?" he asked Rodney.

"No," Rodney answered, not even bothering to look up. "But don't blame me. He had it when I got here."

"'He' can hear you, you know." Carson squinted at the screen. "Ronon brought me it from my office. I need to get my report to Dr. Weir before Mr. Woosley leaves."

"Biro know you have it?"

"Do you think he'd still be typing if she did?" Rodney finally looked up at him. "My report, complete with all the complicated vocabulary I could manage to come up with, was on Elizabeth's desk this morning."

"Good for you, Rodney." John looked back to Beckett. "You don't need to do this now, Doc. Weir isn't expecting it. And we have that recording Heightmeyer made."

"Yes, that recording," Rodney put in. "The one made during what was possibility the worst idea ever. Psychology is even less of a science than medicine."

"If that's true, Rodney, then why have you had weekly appointments with Kate since the first year we were here?" Carson shot back. He stopped trying to type, eyes still squinted. "I'm having a wee bit of trouble getting past the first paragraph of my report, I'm afraid."

"Screen's too bright?" John offered, though Carson's tired eyes already gave him the answer. "Why don't you dictate to someone?"

"You volunteering?" Carson asked.

Rodney snorted. "Not unless you want your entire report typed by someone that still uses the two-finger typing method."

John shrugged. "And yet I've still managed to hand in several typo-free reports." Rodney waved him off. John grabbed the empty chair next to him and settled into it. "So…that report talking about that brain tissue sample that you think Michael took from you?"

Carson pushed his laptop again. "Aye. Though I'm still not entirely sure how he managed to do so without drilling into my skull, really, and neither does Dr. Harper. I've looked at the scans, and now that we know what to look for, some of my initial trauma could have been evidence of such a procedure. I can remember the needle clearly." He reached up to the bandage on his forehead, fingering it lightly for a moment. "Either way, combined with the probe, it was most likely what caused the hematoma. No one on that planet had any medical knowledge beyond the rudimentary skills I'd taught some of them and I'm fairly certain Michael used both Wraith technology and the information he gained from me to extract the cellular material. All things considered, I'm lucky the damage wasn't greater."

"I'll bet," he agreed, though some of medical details went over his head. He was gifted when it came to math and airplanes, not medicine. "But just so that we're clear, this isn't-"

"My fault?" Carson finished. "Aye, Colonel, but I think I may need more time to truly believe that. I have no idea why he did it, but I think it has to do with the information he'd discovered about my time on Hoff. Not that a sample of my tissue would help as I was smart enough not to inoculate myself."

"And doom yourself to a possible death sentence," Rodney interjected.

Carson sighed. "Yes, Rodney. I've not a clue what he planned to do with a sample. However, we do have proof that the Wraith have experimented with human DNA."

"Teyla."

Carson nodded.

"Look," John continued. "We're not even sure he got off the planet."

"True," Carson agreed. He rubbed at his forehead and cast his eyes down to his discarded laptop. "Maybe getting someone to type for me isn't such a bad idea."

"I'm sure Rodney here won't mind."

"Hey!" Rodney protested. "I'm not anyone's secretary, thank you."

John smiled. "You know, Carson, I'd love to know why Rodney won't tell us his middle name."

Rodney paled and immediately stood up, exchanging his tablet for Beckett's laptop. "I'd be glad to help Carson out. Privilege, really."

"Is it really that bad?" he asked Carson, who was trying his best to contain his amusement.

"I'm sworn to secrecy," Carson answered. "But…"

"Carson!" Rodney hissed.

"You'll just have to find out another way, Colonel," Beckett finished.

"Oh, I will."

Rodney just glared at both of them before studying the screen of Carson's laptop. "Jeez, Carson, there are more typos in this paragraph than there is actual English."

Carson sighed. "Headache, Rodney. Brain surgery."

"Oh, so now you it as an excuse! You were fine twenty minutes ago when you obviously convinced Ronan to get your laptop for you."

Carson sighed. "Rodney. I could just tell-"

"I'll fix it," Rodney answered. "But your battery is dying. I need your power cord." He got up and headed towards Carson's office.

As soon as Rodney disappeared, Carson's face turned serious. "There is a good chance Michael got off that planet, John."

"Maybe, maybe not. I like to remain optimistic."

"That is looking at the glass half full, I suppose. That is what my mother would tell me to do. Though, if you're going to convince me this isn't my fault, the least I can do is firmly convince you it isn't yours as well."

"Fair enough," he agreed. A moment of silence passed between the two of them. "You sure I can't convince you to tell me Rodney's middle name?"

"Oh no," Carson answered. "Some things, Colonel, are probably better left unknown."

"Unknown for now," John replied back. "But it's only a matter of time before we find out."

Carson simply nodded.

End

* * *

**A/N: My longest Atlantis fic ever! Reviews, as always, appreciated :).**


End file.
